


We Must Do What We Must

by yet_intrepid



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, French Revolution, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, 1794. Enjolras and Combeferre, trying to navigate the turmoil of the French Revolution side-by-side, find themselves struggling to reconcile their views of the Terror. Any misstep in such a time could be fatal, and each feels the strain of conflicting ideas on their friendship.</p><p> <br/><i>"I do not want you to become one of those innocents who, despite the best efforts of the terror to remain just, are considered counterrevolutionary and pay the price.”</i></p><p>  <i>Combeferre met his eyes. “Yet if my death is one of those which would bring about the future of the Republic?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We Must Do What We Must

**Author's Note:**

> "In the Convention," says Victor Hugo, "[Enjolras] would have been Saint-Just." This is perhaps a hard thing to reckon with in light of current views of the Terror, but I have attempted to do so here. Perhaps I have moderated his views a bit from those of Saint-Just and Robespierre, but we may attribute that to the polarization he adopted from Combeferre.

“But you agreed, Combeferre.” Enjolras’ eyes were clear and insistent, his face set. “You agreed that the king had to die so that the country could live. Why do you now shrink back from applying that same principle to other counterrevolutionaries?”

Combeferre, weary but just as firm, allowed himself a sigh. “Because one execution with a trial of significant length—to which I agreed only reluctantly—is a far cry from the hasty mass condemnations that now take place. I know that the terror was meant to be ‘nothing but justice, prompt, severe, and inflexible,’ and perhaps it was at the beginning—but it has become prompt, severe, and inflexible _injustice_ , Enjolras.”

Enjolras echoed his sigh. “I admit to thinking that Robespierre was wrong in portraying terror as an ideal of justice. Nevertheless, our Republic is still at war, Combeferre, and not only at the borders. We are at war within. We are fighting centuries upon centuries of tyranny. What can we do but defend ourselves against those who have opened war on us? I hate it as you do. Violent justice is not the goal of the revolution, but merely its process, for when the Republic is mature and free, she will be strong enough to pardon her enemies. But for now she is frail, and she must defend herself, even to the shedding of much blood.”

Combeferre met his eyes squarely. “Even to the shedding of innocent blood?” he asked. “Even to the neglect of justice, of fraternity, of the right to security?”

“It is wrong,” said Enjolras, his face harder than ever. “But if the Republic falls, none of those ideals will hold sway in France at all. To compromise them in any way is terrible, but to allow them to be killed by those who would implement tyranny anew in France—that is unforgivable. We must do what we must.”

Combeferre swallowed. “You are saying that the death of innocents can serve the human race.”

“Do I align myself with Collot d’Herbois?” Enjolras asked, patience tempering his indignation. “Or with Carnot? I am not for the death of the innocent, Combeferre. You of all people should know this. But as I have said, we are at war with a long tyranny. We must use the means we have to pull through this chaotic stage in order to reach a peace in which the Republic may grow and prosper. Right now, what we have is the guillotine, and—”

“The guillotine,” interrupted Combeferre flatly, “is nothing more than the child of the monarchy’s torture chambers.”

Enjolras regarded him with grave eyes. “We are all the children of oppression,” he said. “For good or for ill. One day that will be wiped away. It pains me that that day is not today, but we must live in hope of the future, Combeferre.”

“Hope, yes,” Combeferre said. “Of course. But we must also progress towards the future now, and a call for clemency is an important step towards that future. We cannot wait for the ideal time to implement our ideals, Enjolras. We must begin now, and call upon others to find their humanity and follow in our footsteps.”

Enjolras passed a hand over his face. “Combeferre. My friend. You know how dangerous it is to join the Dantonists now and add your voice to Desmoulins’ appeal for clemency.”

“Of course I know that. I am not a fool.”

“Of course you are not. But I do not want you to become one of those innocents who, despite the best efforts of the terror to remain just, are considered counterrevolutionary and pay the price.”

Combeferre met his eyes. “Yet if my death is one of those which would bring about the future of the Republic?”

And one tear slipped down Enjolras’ cheek. “Then I would accept it,” he murmured, pressing Combeferre’s hand. But he did not voice his accompanying thought: _to so sacrifice fraternity would be an act for which I could not forgive myself, however necessary it may be._

——

The Dantonists were executed the fifth of April. Three days later, Enjolras heard a rumor from a reliable source—there was an arrest warrant for Combeferre. Charge: counterrevolutionary activity. Enjolras knew at once that that the offense was the pamphlet Combeferre had written to echo Desmoulins’ plea for clemency.

He went to Combeferre’s apartment.

“Enjolras,” said Combeferre, upon seeing him in the doorway. “I thought you were occupied this evening. Is something wrong?”

Enjolras did not answer. Combeferre let him in and made coffee for them both, and they sat in armchairs by the fire, for it was raining and cold for April.

And they did not speak.

Not until the knock came, forceful and harsh against the silence, and Enjolras looked up to beg forgiveness for withholding a warning.

“I knew,” said Combeferre gently. “When you came, I knew.”

Knew, and could have made an escape.

Enjolras held out a hand. Combeferre, ignoring it, wrapped his arms around him, and for one eternal moment they pressed each other close.

And giving Enjolras the bravest smile he could, Combeferre got up to answer the door.

——

Enjolras was seen in Combeferre’s apartment.

The next day he was seen distributing Combeferre’s pamphlet.

The arrest warrant went out immediately and they went to trial together.

One after another, they mounted the scaffold, dreaming as one of the bright and bloodless future.


End file.
